Today tears caught up with me as I was browsing discounted dresses on the sale rail in M&S. They came soft footed, stealthy as ninjas. I had no idea of their approach.
If someone had asked, I could not have said why I was crying. Not at that moment. There was no trigger tweaked, no memory to tease them, but the tears still rolled out, fat and heavy.
That they came without warning or cause made it somehow scarier, the loss of control, the sense that my feelings were bubbling beyond my view. For a split second I toyed with imaginary explanations I could give if asked – concern for sweatshop labourers, distress at my size being all out, an irrational fear of lime green…
I am a bit too British to be crying in public. I felt I had been caught doing something a little indecent, a little bit naughty, breaching the peace with my moist cheeks.
It is strange to feel that your soft core has been laid bare, your bones exposed. Then you look around and realise no one has noticed. I’m not sure whether that makes it better or worse.
I felt like Neo in the Matrix. My world irrevocably, traumatically changed but everyone around me strolled on unchanged, comfortable in their illusions, content. Next time I’ll take shades and wear something chic and black just in case….